


Aggre: Hit's saga

by Llama_Goddess



Series: Aggre(g/v)ation [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Bastard Redemption, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Kidnapping aftermath, Possessive Sans (Undertale), Reader Is Not Chara (Undertale), Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader-Insert, Violence, but he's learnt to deal with it a bit better, it's mafiafell so, letting go of the past, there'll be some POV shifts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:41:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27919156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama_Goddess/pseuds/Llama_Goddess
Summary: This fic is based on a VERY important character from my story Aggre(g/v)ation, and as such, contains massive spoilers for that story. If you don't want to be majorly spoiled, make sure you've read Aggre(g/v)ation first before going into this! Thank you!This will be a compilation of stories related to Hit (Mafiafell Sans), everyone's favourite evil bad man, and what he did with himself after the events of Aggre- plus a mini au based on if his original plan succeeded. Enjoy!
Relationships: Sans (Mafiafell)/Reader, Sans (Undertale)/Reader
Series: Aggre(g/v)ation [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2050113
Comments: 44
Kudos: 235





	1. If he'd won: Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned, the first two chapters will be a little side story, based on what would've happened if Hit had managed to get Mc through his machine and into his universe like he intended. Don't worry; there's a happy ending to this one too!

_He didn’t mean to. He genuinely didn’t mean to. He was going to use it as leverage, as blackmail, as a way to keep you in line- but when you just kept yelling at him to turn the machine on and let you leave, when you kept fighting to go over to it, when you just_ kept yelling _that you’d escape and you’d never love him..._

_... His fury overtook him, and he lashed out at the nearest thing that wasn’t you,_ **_you’ll never leave me now._ ** _Bones shot through the machine, skewering it beyond repair in all directions, piercing delicate instruments and crumpling the metal like paper._

_..._

_He wasn’t sure what hurt more. Your numb silence, as you stared at the ruined portal... or the heartbroken scream you let out moments afterward._

\---

Hit always knew when you were in your room. The door would be shut, firmly, as if closing it that tight would somehow magically manifest a lock he wouldn’t be able to get through.

He pressed the side of his skull gently against the door, listening for movement. As much as he desperately wanted to now that he had you _here_ with _him,_ completely to himself, he knew he couldn’t smother you with attention and affection just yet. It was like bringing a stray kitten into a new home; he needed to give you somewhere that was your own space, somewhere you could retreat to to escape him. Somewhere you’d, without realising, make into your own little home... a solid ground off of which he could ease you into being with him, _tame_ you- and his mansion was all but _overflowing_ with unused bedrooms, after all. 

He’d made a big show of never going into that room. Never went after you past that door. Even when he wanted you the most, even when he was absolutely _furious_ because you’d done something stupid like throwing a plate at him during a shouting match (you were still so full of surprises), or told him agains that you’d never love him, or gone into one of your silly moods where you only ever talked about _them,_ he never went in. 

...

He hated those mooded days the most. At least when you were angry at him, you were angry at _him;_ your attention was directed toward him. At least when you were screaming and hitting at his back as he carried you over his shoulder, you were hitting _him._ But... when you became despondent, when you talked endlessly about missing home, about _them..._

...

... He couldn’t dwell on it too long, or he’d start to lose his temper. 

... 

... When he didn’t hear movement after about a minute waiting, when he could hear that your breathing inside was deep and slow... he reached down and turned the door handle, stepping in and shutting it behind him.

... You were asleep in the bed, facing the door, bundled up like a little hibernating squirrel, having gathered all the blankets and pillows into one corner to give yourself some protection emotionally. The room was a mess... brand new, unworn clothes strewn across the floor like an expensive cotton bomb had gone off... he’d tried to buy you new things, things that looked similar to your timeline’s odd fashion sense, but you’d refused to change out of your home clothes. The only thing you’d accept from him was fresh underwear.

... It didn’t matter. You’d only been here a week. Wearing this timeline’s clothes would mean you were accepting part of it; for now, it was just another hurdle he had to cross with you.

You’d left your bedside lamp on... as you always did, every night. He moved over to the side of your bed, as quietly as possible... he crouched down and found the lamp’s wire and switch, turning it off with a gentle ‘click’.

_... He didn’t like to think about the implications of you always keeping the light on. Was it the dark you were afraid of? ... Or him?_

... He stood back up again, sighing very gently. You probably thought it just turned itself off automatically... it was becoming a sort of nighttime ritual for him. Wait for you to sleep, turn your light off, watch you for a little while and leave. It was the closest he got to be to you without you moving away... he distracted himself from thinking about how you still flinched back from him by fiddling with the lamp shade, holding the edge between his thumb and forefinger and tilting it ever-so-slightly, righting a miniscule lean that was bothering him...

...

“Red?”

...

Something in his chest _stopped._

... Your _voice._

...

His eyelights shrank to half their size as he looked down at you. 

Your eyes were wide open. You must’ve been in a lighter sleep than he thought, awoken by the change in lighting, or the flicking of the switch... or maybe just by chance. Those same eyes that normally looked at him in disgust or terror were very gently shining up at him, with an orange twinkle... his own crimson eyelights reflected back at him, but softer, as if you’d somehow diffused their power and malice.

... _Red._ You were calling for _Red._ Not him, not Hit, not the skeleton right in front of you who had control and power over your whole life right now; even when he was stood by your bedside, close enough to cup your face... all you could see was _another man._ For a moment jealousy reared again in his chest, _clawing_ at his Soul, his jaw clenched and he wanted to grab the lamp and _hurl_ it across the room to see it shatter into pieces on the wall...

... Your eyes...

...

... They had a misty quality to them. Farway, lost. You looked so...

... Afraid.

“R-Red?” You said again, voice _cracking,_ you were calling for him like a lost child calling in a dark forest. So close to tears... you lifted up the fingers of your hand a little, as if wanting to reach out to him, but a mixture of tiredness and apprehensiveness (Were you scared he’d disappear? Like a dream?) prevented you from moving. 

He hated it, he _hated_ it, he hated your pleading vulnerable face and how you never opened to him like that, he hated how it was just reminding him over and over again that you weren’t _his,_ you didn’t belong to him... 

... but it didn’t matter how much he hated it, because the longer he looked at you and your beautiful eyes and your terrified expression, the more he felt the anger melting away from him. Draining out of his bones and into the earth, where it dissolved and neutralised.

... You were so small... in your head, you were so alone. So...

...

... Quietly, he crouched down to your eye level. He slipped the gold rings off of his phalanges, placing them on the floor.

...

“... yeah... sweetheart.” He said, taking your hand gently in both of his, letting his voice shift back into the accent he had when he was younger. “s’okay. it’s me.”

He’d never used that nickname before. It felt sour, it felt bad in his mouth, a poison on his tongue; a word that wasn’t his, and never would be.

... The cloud-like mist in your eyes condensed into soft rain, tears slipped down your cheeks. Your chest fluttered... you squeezed his hand and suddenly, you were letting out tiny sobs, tiny noises that _stung_ him, it felt as if barbed wire was constricting around his ribcage every time you wept because your face had cracked and you looked so _relieved_ in the belief you were with one of _them._ But despite the agony, when you lifted your other hand pathetically in a silent gesture he couldn’t help but oblige, closing the distance and wrapping his arms around your tiny figure.

You _melted_ into him, and he felt his whole body react likewise... curling around you, as if to shield you from sight. He’d never had you tuck into him like this, like he was your protection, like you _needed_ him. It felt so good, so right... he had to squeeze his sockets shut, because even as your cries got worse and every breath wracked your whole body it was _okay_ because _he_ was the one comforting you, _he_ was the one you were leaning into, just for this moment it was him and you against the world.

_... Except, to you, it wasn’t him._

“I-I’m _scared!”_ You sobbed. “I w-wanna go ho-ome!”

A wedge quickly formed in his throat. You sounded completely terrified- and _he_ was why. Him and his stupid, fickle temper, him and his inability to control himself. “shh... i know, i know...”

“Don’t l-leave me alone here.” Your fingers curled into his shirt. “Please, _ple-ease.”_

...

... He got up off the floor, and into the bed with you; where he’d wanted to be since the moment he first met you. He told himself the move was because his legs were hurting from his position on the floor so he wouldn’t think too deeply about it. You immediately clung to him, arms around his neck, chest to chest... and he held you back, the two of you folded into each other as you cried into his shirt.

... It felt so _good._ It felt so good it _hurt._ He wanted to croon to you without any facade, shut his sockets and stay there forever... running his claws through your hair, rubbing a hand up and down your back, feeling every heartbeat and breath in your body against his bones.

_is... this what they had every day? this... connection?_

He had to work hard to force the envy back down again.

...

“... s’gonna be okay.” He murmured, trying to think of the right things to say to comfort you. “just... hang on. we’re... we’re gonna come save you.”

“... Y-you can’t.” You sounded so hoarse, so hopeless. “You’re stuck. Y-you’re frozen. And the machine... it’s...”

“... hey. hey, look at me.”

... You obeyed, tilting your head up just a little to make eye contact with him. He felt so much at once, having you listen to him, having you look at him as if he were your solution and not your problem. Even if he knew you weren’t looking at _him,_ he could... at least pretend, for a few wonderful moments.

“... i promise yer gonna get out of here. yer gonna get home. ok?” He almost called you doll. He wondered if you could hear it, in his voice- that urge to speak like his real self, lurking like a sea monster under the calm water’s surface.

...

“You promise?” You repeated, softly, staring up at him with those beautiful eyes. It was instantaneous... how you started to calm down once you believed you were going to be free.

... 

“yeah.” He tucked your head back under his chin, closing his sockets. “i do.”

He didn’t expect to be speaking honestly.

... You sniffled, but your sobbing had finally stopped.

...

“S-stay with me, Red.” You said, only just above a whisper, cracked and sore from the crying. “Please.”

“course.” He pressed his teeth against your hair in a pseudo-kiss. “i’ll never leave.”

... 

Unfortunately, he was lying through those same teeth he kissed you with. Just like he always did. He savoured the feeling of holding you, of being your support, he savoured it like his last meal on death row... but the moment you were truly limp in his arms, back in the depths of unconsciousness, he removed himself from your embrace. He tucked the blankets up, over your shoulders... he collected his rings from the floor.

... He spent a few moments watching your sleeping face. Your tear-stained red cheeks, your slightly parted lips, the dark circles around your eyes... 

...

  
Then he slipped the rings back onto his fingers, and left the room... for the first time in a long time knowing _exactly_ what he was going to do.


	2. If he'd won: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hit lets you go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean... I'd act surprised that this chapter was supposed to be small but ended up Big, but that just seems to be my thing at this point. Hope you're prepared for one or two stray Feelings!

... You were like a cat.

The less he bothered you, the more you seemed to gravitate toward him, to become curious about what he was doing and where he was going. When he was constantly focusing his attention on you and smothering you and fighting with you and trying to get you to accept your position in his life and his world, you resisted, you exerted what little power you still had (the power to deny him) with full force, keeping distance like it was a weapon... refusing to give in to him or allow any kind of peaceful atmosphere to settle in case it became permanent. Arguments and screaming matches _were_ the normal for the two of you and it was a normal you adamantly refused to let go of.

... But then as soon as he gave you complete and utter space, something shifted.

In the first day of him in his workshop, you seemed to relish being without him- he could hear you moving all over the house, going wherever you wanted and then diving back into your room, clearly half expecting him to follow and then going back out again in excitement when he didn’t. Usually his excellent hearing (being a monster, and all) was a bothersome handicap and often left him overwhelmed by all the noise of the surface, but... he had to admit, it put a smile on his face even as he sat at his chair with the door closed, pouring over his schematics and tools. Your little feet on the carpeted mansion floor, sometimes clearly attempting to tip-toe and then giving up, sometimes pausing as you most likely peered into a room... he found himself pausing too every now and then to just listen. A full 24 hours without him trying to steal a kiss, without him fussing you, without him even making so much as a single appearance, it had put a spring in your step he hadn’t heard since...

_... He just stood there, for a little while, watching. You were fiddling with your work clothes, shifting your weight from foot to foot... occasionally opening up your phone to glance at the time and using the front-facing camera to check that your hair and face were all still the same as they’d been seconds ago. You looked so nervous, but... in a_ good _way, you were so evidently looking forward to spending time with him- you wanted his attention, his approval, to make a good impression on him._

_... For just a moment, a pang of guilt settled into his Soul. Knowing that you were putting so much faith into him, knowing that you were genuinely_ excited _to see him... knowing what he was going to do to you the second you refused him once he had you alone inside his home._

_The guilt began to silently nag and writhe, a tiny twisting weed inside his plans, forcing through the seemingly concrete-solid convictions he’d been laying for weeks. Was this... the right thing to do? Was this really the only way to get what he wanted? You seemed so happy, so bright..._

_He pressed his sockets shut._

stop thinking like that. stop being soft. you’ll take her home, willingly or not, and she’ll fall in line. she’ll love you. it’s the only way.

_... When he opened them again, he was smiling, and the weed had been crushed underfoot._

_“... someone looks deep in thought.”_

_You jumped, clearly broken out of a reverie no matter how soft he tried to keep his voice, putting a hand to your chest and letting out a tiny, surprised laugh. You approached him with a spring in your step, you didn’t hesitate to put your arm through his, your body so fragile against him..._

_..._

_you poor, poor thing._

...

... He hadn’t seen a spring in your step since before the moment he pressed that cloth over your mouth.

And as much as it hurt him to admit it, it was just further proof that although he didn’t like it, what he was doing right now was the right thing.

... The next day, there was a marked difference in your behaviour. He heard you step out of your room, slowly... but not back in again; your footsteps moved cautiously around the hallways, each trip slowly acquiring more and more distance from your room, a tiny bunny working up the courage to move just that little bit further from the safety of the den, one hop at a time. You were checking each room... methodically, opening the door and pausing, then closing it and moving on or returning to your safe zone.

_Coming closer to his workshop._ Bit by bit. Step by step. Why was his Soul humming faster the closer you came?

... The workshop door creaked open. 

He couldn’t help it; he looked up from his work, glancing at you... making eye contact for the first time in almost 48 hours. You’d frozen, you seemed _surprised_ to see him sitting at the desk- like you’d searched in so many rooms without success that you half anticipated not finding him _anywhere._ You hair was loose and frizzled, your eyes were wide and alive and beautiful... you were still wearing your home clothes.

_... God_ he wanted to touch you, he wanted to pull you onto his lap and press his teeth against your cheek and neck, he wanted to feel your skin pinken and warm up under his phalanges, kiss your palm and your fingers and your wrist and forget this stupid plan to send you home and just _have_ you for forever. He wanted you to tuck close to him and close your eyes, to feel your head softly resting against his sternum like that night when you danced together at the restaurant...

... But in the real world, the moment you seemed to understand that you were, in fact, looking at _him..._ your entire disposition soured with fear, and you ducked back out of the room. 

... 

He had to shut his sockets, pressing his palms against them, clenching his jaw tightly.

The anger and the hurt of rejection welled up in the back of his throat like vomit, arms suddenly feeling very, _very_ empty. He was working incredibly hard to not sweep all the circuit boards and delicate wiring off the table to watch them shatter and break on the floor and then go chase you down and shove your pathetically tiny body against a wall, you should be so _so_ grateful he’s doing this, you should be on your _knees_ thanking him for _choosing_ to do this, nobody was forcing him he deserved some recognition for such a good deed, why the _fuck_ was he doing this why wouldn’t you just _accept it_ and _like him_ again why were you still so...

... so _frightened_ of him...

...

_“Don’t l-leave me alone here.” Your fingers curled into his shirt. “Please, ple-ease...”_

...

He let a thin sigh escape from between his teeth, propping his elbows on the desk and running both hands over his skull until they were at the nape of his spine, electing to forcibly swallow the negative feelings and crush them down into his chest... they writhed there, and his jaw was clenched far too tightly, but at least he hadn’t broken anything for once. 

He desperately wanted a drink, but he only had his expensive liquors immediately on hand and working on insanely intricate inter-universe machinery while even a _little_ intoxicated was every shade of a terrible idea.

... Instead, he lowered his gaze to his schematics and continued working, hoping to bury the remainder of his violent and jealous thoughts in numbers and calculations.

...

He didn’t expect you to come back, the next day.

He thought that now you knew where he was, you’d avoid that area of the house like the plague. Free reign of the entire mansion... free reign to talk to whoever you wanted, go wherever you wanted, live without his pressing aura and enjoy some freedom... 

But instead, you caught him surprisingly off guard by pushing the door to his workshop open gently, peering in like a curious child sneaking into their father’s office. 

... He paused for a moment, but didn’t make the mistake of looking at you like he did last time; a tiny glance toward the door before he refocused on his work... taking a slow drag from the thick cigar perched between his shark teeth and exhaling soft, curling red plumes of smoke. He continued surveying the small opened piece of machinery in his hand, checking it over... a thin crimson glow had encased the circuitry inside and was moving hair-slim wires into position with casual pinpoint accuracy as his other hand crossed off notes. At this point he’d made at least four or five portals and was pretty adept at getting it done quickly and cleanly... whereas before a single one of the little stabilisers would’ve taken him almost a day, he could breeze through four or five in an hour.

... He could tell you were looking at the blueprint on the wall. That you were staring at the suspiciously machine-like exoskeleton propped up against that same wall just beside his desk, with part of it open, its incomplete metallic insides on display... that your eyes had wandered to the little item he was toiling over. 

...

Once he was done with the stabiliser, he closed it and pushed back from the desk a little. He rotated in his swivel chair so he could see better and floated the fist-sized device over to the portal, where it slotted neatly inside, a tiny satisfying series of clicks ensuring that it was properly in place.

... Then he moved back to his desk and picked up a small tool, which he used to start tinkering with another, slightly larger mass of metal and wires, exhaling more smoke that curled into strange shapes in the air.

...

“... What’re you... making?” You asked. You were trying to sound casual, sightly intrigued, but he could hear the forced edge.

“a new portal to yer universe.” Hit grunted, hoping that getting the phrase out quickly before he could start to think about avoiding or lying would make it easier to say.

It didn’t.

...

The pause seemed to stretch on for far too long, burrowing into his bones, raising his anxieties as you processed what you’d just heard.

...

“... You’re...” So small. “... Sending me home?”

...

His brow twitched, sockets narrowing- he hated how much emotion rose to the surface in your voice when you said that. How much restrained hope... _you_ _ungrateful..._ he had to stop himself from clenching his jaw like he wanted to because he’d sever his cigar, the only thing keeping him calm right now. _just... fuck, just focus on building._

“... yes.” He said, flat. His Soul was so tight... _get the memo already. leave me alone._

...

“... Hit...”

He physically _flinched_ when you said the name you’d given him for the first time since he’d taken you here; you said it with softness, with relief and fractured exhausted joy, you said it like someone feeling genuine affection, you said it like you’d been lost in the jungle for weeks and he’d just offered you food, water and a warm bed. Someone who’d lost all hope and had gained a spark of it back because this was so wonderful and amazing, the idea of leaving him was the best _fucking_ thing to _ever happen to you..._

He couldn’t bear it. He wasn’t ready to bear it. _why couldn’t you just have said his name like that before!?_

_“don’t.”_ He hissed, a tone he’d never used with you. Even _he_ was surprised at the amount of venom in his voice; the anger that he’d crushed down into his chest was surging back up again to meet the fresh pain and he couldn’t stop it, he didn’t want to. “don’t you dare patronise me with your sappy shit, it’s not happenin’. cut it out or i might change my mind.”

...

He felt that familiar instant regret flooding into his system, _you stupid motherfucker you always ruin everything,_ but he ignored it and just attempted to force his tumultuous feelings into submission with another drag on the cigar that was _much_ too fast and burnt it, quickly filling his mouth with a bitter flavour that frustrated him even more. He couldn’t even look at you; it was one thing to agree to let something go, it was another to stand there and watch it slip between your fingers.

...

... Hit wasn’t used to letting things go. He’d always been the possessive type.

_Somehow, in his cigar, the acrid taste from the burnt leaves... it helped a little? Something unpleasant to easily concentrate on, rather than the gnawing upset._

“... Still a petulant child.” You said, and although he could tell it was intending to carry malice, it just sounded like you were trying to spare his feelings by steering into sharper, easier-to-manage emotional grounds. “Good to know.”

...

He chuckled, exhaling the foul smoke through his nasal cavity.

...

You meandered over to one of the little chairs in the side of the room, sitting down. You still had some distance on him (being on the opposite side of the workshop) but from there, you could watch whatever he was doing. 

And you just sort of... 

Sat there. _Stayed_ there.

...

You were... staying in the room with him? After so long seeking any kind of willing acknowledgement from you, it was only once he began the process of setting you free that you chose to close a tiny bit of the gap between the two of you?

...

...

He quietly put out his cigar, suddenly keenly aware of the smoke drifting around the room, and your fragile lungs.

\---

_You were curled up in the chair, eyes shut and mouth hanging ever-so-slightly open, in what clearly couldn’t have been a comfortable sleeping position considering how small the seat was. It was much darker now, late into the night... the only illumination in the room was the small lamp Hit had on the side of his desk._

_The comforting sound of his tinkering that’d lulled you to sleep stopped as he turned in his own seat to look at the little sleeping human._

_..._

_Hit stood from his chair and made his way over to you. It was so easy to lift you into his arms, you were so tiny compared to him, tucked against his chest and breathing slowly... the only vaguely difficult part was ensuring he moved you into his grip in a manner that wouldn't disturb you or wake you._

_He held you, using his magic to quietly swap your tiny, uncomfortable chair for a large, fine, expensive and overstuffed leather armchair that’d been occupying his other office... you all but sank into the cushions when he lowered you down into them. It was much better... you looked significantly more comfortable, less like someone trying to sleep stuffed in a box._

_... He went back to his desk and sat down, turning his lamp off, electing to work in the dark. His night vision was good enough for that._

\---

It definitely stood to reason that the best day he had with you would be the day when he was finishing the machine.

Instead of you throwing the breakfast he bought for you either at him or off a table, you ate together, on opposite sides of the room, in quiet peace. When he came close to your chair to pass you the plate you didn’t jump away like the two of you were magnets of the same polarity, you just kept an eye on him. Instead of yelling and fighting and you infuriating him to the point where he’d end up chasing you through the house, there was a comfortable, gentle kind of silence that he found himself enjoying as he worked... just listening to your slow breathing, not once craving a drink or a smoke.

It felt so...

... Domestic. 

...

But as the day went on, as the machine came closer to completion, he found it harder and harder to slip into that peaceful state. With each screw, with each successful activation of essential parts, his own head began to taunt him... _this is what you wanted, isn’t it? peace with her. and now it’s within your grasp you’re letting go._

The final screw within the hull of the machine tightened into place. His fingers were starting to itch, wanting to go slower, a nauseous ball was forming in his chest and throat, a faint ringing in his skull. You were sitting so far but so _close._

_...you could stretch this out. she has no idea how these things work. you could keep disconnecting and reconnecting the same pieces for weeks and she wouldn’t ask questions. you could keep this dream going._

He glanced at you, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, ringing getting louder as the thudding of his Soul became stronger against his ribcage; you were watching with a confused sort of interest. 

_you could have her for longer. why are you just giving up? handing her back to those idiots as if they could love her like you do._

The final wiring connection, his magic both holding the wire in place and heating the tip of the solder stick to seal it. His magic suddenly began to feel sluggish and unreliable, like instead of it being an extension of himself, he was _pushing_ it to do what he wanted... it was growing unresponsive to his intentions. He furrowed his brow and shut the machine; the interior was complete.

_stop it. you’re a fool. you’re doing this... what, because she cried a little? everything takes sacrifice. you could break her eventually._

He turned to the screen set into the machine. It powered on when he pressed the button, meaning everything was working perfectly. Black with a little white blinking cursor staring back at him, he couldn’t hear anything anymore, his chest hurt.

_stop it._

He started typing, numbly; he’d asked for a lock of your hair, earlier, as a scan of your DNA would infallibly pinpoint your home universe.

_that’s not her home universe. her home universe should be here, with you._

_..._

_with_ **_me._ **

He’d typed up the command to scan the DNA. All he had to do was press enter, and the universe would be selected. Then all it’d take to send you back was a final command and the pushing of a button. 

His phalange was over the enter key.

...

He pressed it.

The entire portal began to whirr, clicking and grinding, power and electricity and magic flooding through it and supplying energy to every necessary corner in an instant. He saw you sit up in your seat, the activity catching your full attention, but his eyelights were glued to the screen.

**[scanning...]**

He still couldn’t hear much of anything. But now, he couldn’t feel anything either. He wanted the scan to fail, he wanted some excuse to break open the machine and keep working. He stared at the screen with minuscule eyelights, he wanted a reason to keep you here, give him a way to extend this dream, please break, please fail, please, _please..._

...

**[match found, bv738. 80082 route set true.]**

...

...

It worked.

It... worked.

...

He felt strange. A mixture of complete emptiness, and a crushing, overwhelming dismay that sank into him, knowing that this really was _it._ There was no stopping now, this was the day you’d leave, this was the day you’d escape... you’d begin your path to being happy without him, to totally forgetting him. 

Now there was just one line on the screen in front of him.

**[open portalway]**

...

_i could still lie._ His Soul was pounding so hard it was making him feel sick. His eyelights were totally gone. _i could still stop it right here, wait until i_ want _to let her go, if that day ever comes. i could buy so much more time with her with one more lie._

_just... one more lie._

...

...

He pressed the button.

There was a click, another whirr... and suddenly, a _flash._ He moved back from the machine and glanced up, eyelights returning... he saw you jump up too, out of the corner of his socket; a gap between the dimensions had formed.

Between the pillars, the floor panel, and the tube along the top, a totally white universal split had formed. It shone, rippling gently like the shimmering surface of a bubble, calm and perfectly stable... beautiful. He’d done a fucking good job despite his own self sabotage, it was probably the best portal he'd ever made.

_idiot._

... He couldn’t look at you as you stared at it, the tiny inhaling sound you made that carried thousands of words of emotion and hope was already enough to twist the knife in his ribcage; he stared at the floor, hands by his sides.

...

It was letting off a very faint warmth. As if standing in a nice area of sun.

...

“Is... that...”

“... that’s it.” He didn't know how he had the strength to talk.

...

“... Hit...” You turned to him. “Th... thank you, I...”

He had no response. All of his thoughts had shut off, all the voices demanding he stopped or kept you had gone quiet, just an empty hole lingering where his mind should've been. There was an unfamiliar stinging sensation in the corners of his sockets and he was digging his sharp phalange tips into his palm.

...

“You...” Your voice was so soft. Why was it so soft? You were moving toward him, he could hear your tiny feet on the floor. “... Y'know, I was... wrong. You... _can_ be a good guy... Sans. This... proves it.”

_Why were you being gentle now, of all times? Why were you giving him a taste of what he’d wanted this whole time,_ **_just before you left forever?_ **

“doll, just...” He couldn’t look at you, he couldn’t raise his voice any higher than a mumble because he could feel the pressure rising in his throat and he didn’t want your last memory of him to be his voice cracking. To be weakness. He knew you’d do something sweet, you’d touch his arm, maybe even his face, you’d hug him and keep saying more kind things that just weren't true. You were looking for goodness and kindness and altruism somewhere where they didn't exist.

... He wanted you to touch him, to do your stupid emotional farewell. He wanted it so badly it was like his skull was cracking, his ribcage was fracturing, his sockets were burning. He wanted you to hold him.

... But he knew if you did, he... probably wouldn’t let go.

...

“... just go.”

...

You... you started moving toward the portal. Walking slowly. He couldn’t help it- as you approached the glowing gate, his Soul cried and lurched in his chest at the invading thought that you were _leaving_ and despite what he’d promised himself, he still looked up. He still...

He wanted to get one last glimpse of you.

... He _wished_ you'd turn around. That you'd stop, that you'd spin on your heel and look at him with those beautiful eyes and tell him you wanted to stay- that you'd reach the crux of the portal, the border between the worlds, and realise you _wanted_ to be with him. He was hoping with all his breaking Soul that despite him giving you no reason to, you’d change your mind.

  
...

You looked over your shoulder just before you stepped through. His throat clenched- you looked so pretty, illuminated by the light of the doorway. You were so perfect. A beautiful thing, a light he wanted to cup in his phalanges, feel fluttering against his broken bones. Your eyes twinkled.

...

You smiled at him.

He smiled back, eyelights out. _please don't leave me._

_..._

As you turned away... he reached out with one hand, just a little, a tiny instinctive gesture that slipped past all his conscious thought.  
  
  
  


... And then you were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go... Aggre if Hit succeeded. Mc returns to her universe at exactly the moment she left it, and reunites with her boys, the rest of Aggre goes on... Hit is alone, and his story goes on. At this point the narrative where he wins and the narrative where he fails would converge. 
> 
> Now, it'll be on to how he meets his girl! Hope you enjoyed this little dive into how it could've been <3

**Author's Note:**

> Make sure to check out my [Tumblr,](llamagoddessofficial) as I'm pretty active there and you can get a good look at what I'm working on. <3


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